Where did summer go?

As I look at the handy dandy calendar in the Garage of Doom, I came to a realization. I have been away from the influence of air tools, grease, and other lovely items in here for entirely too long.

See, the calendar still displays Miss June. A time warp, if you would, has occurred in there. Projects still litter the floor, tables, and shelves, some dating to the cold damp days of March, when the very idea of crawling around on a damp floor, under a broken Jeep is just not all that appealing.

Time to get the backlog down. The rumblings of the Beast of the Garage of Doom is starting to get some volume to them.

The first order of business, switch the calendar to August. Sorry Miss July, your time in the sun was limited to a quick flip, Miss August, sorry, your time is also limited to a few days at the end of this month.

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See, after the second busy cycling July in as many years, plus, the preparations for Matthew’s departure ate into my “quality time” in the two bays of pain. Add in the preparations for High School Football season, and the Fair, and summer has ended.

The realization of just how fast a summer has passed came last week, as the first of the year’s blackberry jelly found it’s way on to my morning toast. My lovely bride, who loves to pick the gifts of the mountains, also loves to preserve these gifts for those cold days to come. There is almost nothing better than blackberry jelly on warm toast in January.

No, I started to realize that summer was nearly past when I started noticing some trees were already changing colors, from green to vibrant reds. Already.

Another thing I really enjoy doing throughout the summer is stargazing. I have been studying the heavens lately, as the Milky Way is overhead this time of year. One thing I have also noticed, is a fuzzy fringe around the sky, on the horizon, where the stars are dimmed.

Light pollution. This is why city folks can not really see the stars. Streetlights, advertising signs, parking lot lights, “security” lights, and the like not only illuminate the area they designed to, but, places that they are not designed to illuminate. One of light’s properties is that it goes a long way. Add in atmospheric haze, and you have light pollution.

Many years ago, I brought a friend up Whitehorse mountain. He was amazed by the “highway of stars across the heavens” as Jimmy Buffett has called the Milky Way. He grew up in the D.C. suburbs and had never seen the splendor of a clear night sky.

Take a few moments on the next clear night, and look up. Turn out any outside lights, then look again. See the difference? That is light pollution in action.

There are simple fixes for light pollution. The light switch is one, when you don’t need the light, turn it off. Shields are available for parking lot lights, and for lighted billboards, so the light does not scatter where it’s not wanted.

I have always had a fascination with the sky. Call it an artifact of the time I grew up in. The Apollo program was in full swing, the stars beckoned to this country boy. Call it October Sky, Somerset County style.

Rockets were and are also a passion, the simplicity of thrust pushing, and “the equal and opposite reaction” sending a sleek missile skyward has an appeal. Imagine, getting an assignment to cover a high-power rocket launch. Last Saturday, I was treated to this, as well as nearly 40 other local visitors. Tripoli Pittsburgh uses the Mountain Trails Resort ATV park as their launch site. High-power rockets need a lot of space, which the ATV park has.

To say I was in “physics heaven” is an understatement.

The one thing that really floored me, were the two young ladies, Amy and Ashley, who are into rockets. Here is this nation’s future, wrapped up in rocketry and science. It was refreshing, to see that young people can pull themselves away from the electronic gadgets, the fluff of popular culture, and get hands on in science and technology.

There is another launch scheduled for September, and I plan on being there, even if only for a few moments. I may even launch one myself.

(Staff Writer Bob Leverknight, when not flipping calendar pages, gazing skyward, or dreaming of thrust vectors, can be reached at bobl@dailyamerican.com)